


and all we have is time

by hfszn



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lowercase, POV Second Person, Pre-Canon, aaron's pov tho i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:55:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26379178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hfszn/pseuds/hfszn
Summary: you are old enough to know the difference between right and wrong, old enough to understand that what your father is doing is wrong even when you've done everything right. you are still young enough to think that you can't do anything about it.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & Sean Hotchner
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	and all we have is time

**Author's Note:**

> hi another character study but this time on hotch and also there's a lot of conflicting information on the wiki so i just,,,kinda went with whatever vibed - also please do note the implied child abuse tag, it is there for a reason

you are ten years old and you are holding your baby brother and you think you would do anything for him.

sean babbles in a way you think babies are supposed to and you do not flinch when his small hands find your hair and pull with more strength than you’re expecting. the back of your head is still tender from where your father has hit you, the bruise you’re sure is hiding behind what your mother calls a mop of hair aching but at least the cut is no longer bleeding. but you can’t focus on that just yet. you can’t focus on anything but the way his hand curls around your finger, the way his eyes twinkle as he looks up at you. he looks so small, innocent, so fragile. you don’t want to hurt him, you don’t want him to get hurt. 

your father is watching you from across the room, the cigarette placed between his teeth unlit, but his smile looks sinister and you hold your baby brother a little tighter, hold him to your chest a little closer as if you can make sure your father can never touch him if you do not ever let him go. 

your mother coos, says she can tell you’re going to be such a good big brother because you’re already so protective of him, and you smile at her because she is soft and kind and gentle in all of the ways you wish you could be. in all of the ways your father is not. 

you are only ten years old and you know, better than anyone, that you have to be the one to protect him.

\--

you are fifteen years old trying not to look like a creep as you stand in the makeup aisle at the drug store so your little brother doesn’t ask any more questions.

he is five and curious and pokes fingers into bruises and cigarette burns. he asks how you got hurt, asks if you got into a fight and, if so, did you win and you know you cannot tell him. 

your father is a nightmare you are protecting him from because you are his big brother and that means that it is your job. sean is small and innocent but you are not so you can bear the pain if it means sean doesn’t have to. 

your mother bakes chocolate chip cookies on the weekends when your father is away, your brother steals spoonfuls of cookie dough on the kitchen counter while your press foundation onto the angry hand mark on your cheek, and you wonder why you won’t tell her.

_ she won’t believe me _ , you reason, trying on a smile in the mirror until you don’t wince at the pain as it pulls on your cheek.  _ he said he’ll hurt her too if i tell _ , you remind yourself, hoping no one noticed just how long you were in the bathroom as you make your way down to the kitchen again. sean races to you when he sees you, like he always does, arms wrapping around your leg as he rambles about how you missed the best parts already. you smile at him, like you always do, and you ruffle his hair and call yourself paranoid as you search for bruises peeking beneath shirt collars. 

_ i can’t risk him hurting sean too, _ you remember. you let him drag you by the hand, split knuckles from your last act of teenage rebellion aching behind colorful teenage mutant ninja turtle bandaids, and you let him take you wherever he wants because you want him to be happy more than you want to be okay.

the house feels lighter without your father around, less like the walls are suffocating you and more like what you’re sure a home should feel like. there is a glass shattering in the kitchen but you do not flinch because of it. instead, you hear your mother laugh and your brother goes to grab the broom. here, in this house, there is laughter instead of yelling, and you, ever the pessimist, know that this will not last for long. 

when your father comes home like you always knew he would but wished he wouldn’t, late at night with alcohol tainting his judgment and rage controlling his hands, you try your best not to flinch away from heavy blows that are sure to leave bruises. you don’t focus on him, on his words, and instead, you think you might need to buy more concealer. 

he tells you that he’s sending you to boarding school and you do not argue. he says he’s sick of you acting out and you bite your tongue before you talk back. the taste of iron is grounding and the only thing that stops you from fighting back when he gets like this. you know he gets the calls from the school, you hope he knows you’re the reason why he acts out in the first place,  you pray he won’t hurt sean when you’re gone.

you are only fifteen years old, with a medical record fifteen pages long, and you tell yourself that this is the right choice, the only choice, to make sure everyone else will be okay. 

\--

you are twenty-five years old and your father is dead but somehow that doesn’t phase you. 

your brother cries at the funeral, grief-stricken and fifteen, still just a child who loved his father and hates his brother and you don’t understand his sorrow. there are relatives who you don’t recognize offering you little more than their condolences, saying they’ll keep you in their prayers, but you don’t do much of anything except stare at the open casket.

you recognize that you are existing in a state of shock. for so long you thought your father to be unbeatable, to always be the monster under your bed until you died, and the idea of him dying to a heart attack feels too mundane, too normal for a man like him. you want him to suffer for what he did to you, you want him to suffer just like you did. 

no one knows what he did to you.

you know that the statute of limitations for child abuse charges is when the child turns eighteen, or three years from when the abuse is discovered or occurred. no one is going to know of the abuse you suffered for years on your own, not your mother who left, not the brother you left, not anyone. you hide old burns under tailored suits, seal old medical records beneath layers and layers of judicial red tape, and you make sure that no one knows that your father was really a monster. 

you pay to have him buried because you think your family would like that, would like having a place to visit him when they’re ready. you want to have him cremated because you want him to burn for everything he’s done. 

you can’t think about him, your father, when sean asks why you never come home, why this is the first time he’s gotten to see you since he was young and still unaware of the monsters of the real world. you do not tell him of handprint bruises and glass bottle scars. you do not tell him anything. he tells you that he wants to be a lawyer like you and you smile because, even now, he is still full of innocence and naivety that you never got the chance to hold. you do not tell him that you became a prosecutor because it is the only way to make sure monsters like your father go away. you do not think he is ready to hear that. 

you want to offer to help him study for his bar exam, you want to say you’ll come home more often to see him, but you just place your hand on his shoulder and tell him to take care of himself in all of the ways that you no longer can for him. you want to say you’re sorry but you don’t know how. you want to make things better but you don’t know how.

you tell him that you can put in a good word for him at whatever school he wants to attend.

you are only twenty-five years old but you’ve lived through a world of enough pain to last a lifetime and you think, for once, it’s time to settle down.

\--

you are thirty-four years old and you are not alone but you are, in a sense, alone. 

you have a wife, who you love, who loves you, who does not know about you. you are soon to have a child who will not know his grandparents but will know security and protection like it is his birthright. you have a job that you like, a team who likes you, a family if you choose to let them in and you do not choose to let them in. 

they know you as you let them know you. you are responsible, determined, hard-working in ways that they will praise you for and this is how you want it to be. 

they ask you to take up the position of unit chief while gideon takes a leave of absence and you say yes. he comes back with a boy your brother’s age, with eyes that still sparkle and hands that still hold naivety in the same way they hold the strap of his leather bag, and you do not know what to do with him. so you do nothing, the way you always have, the way you always will. 

you are only thirty-four years old, somehow still not yet the man you always hoped you would become and yet even more so a bigger man than your father ever was, and you are going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> hi thank you for reading, please feel free to comment if you'd like (also feel free to hmu on tumblr @criminalszn) thank you  
> a few things:  
> -the child abuse statute of limitations is technically from south carolina but also i'm really tired so please just take it--  
> -ages are hard to figure out so please give me a break--


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